


Now Who's Being Melodramatic?

by a_taller_tale



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-11 10:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10462386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: Five times Wash completely failed to hide injuries from Tucker, and one time he didn’t need to.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illumynare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illumynare/gifts).
  * Inspired by [If You Want Me To Look At Another Rash...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9104353) by [illumynare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illumynare/pseuds/illumynare). 



> This is a remix of "If You Want Me to Look at Another Rash..." in Wash's POV for the Red vs. Blue Remixchange 2017. This was a lot of fun to do. Thanks so much to [PlayerProphet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayerProphet) for organizing. I hope you like it, Lumi!

1\. 

The thing is that Agent Washington is their leader now. Somehow they saw the man who took their (sort of) friends hostage, killed one of them—two of them, if you counted the AI that had been leading them before that— 

They saw the man that did all of that to them and gave him their friend’s armor and brought him in from the cold. 

Caboose _and_ Tucker, who should know better, always have all of their vulnerable points on display, always turn their back on him like they’re not expecting a knife. 

Wash doesn’t know what he did to deserve their trust, but much sooner than they should, much sooner than he’s earned it, they trust him to be the strong one. To make the decisions and to keep them safe. 

That trust, and how dangerously soon he got it from them, inspires a protectiveness he didn’t even know he was capable of. It’s not until he’s holding a gun on Carolina for Tucker’s sake that he realizes how deep he is already. 

But it’s _right_. They’ve been through enough. He doesn’t deserve their trust yet, but they deserve for him to live up to it. 

There’s no way to protect them when the ship crashes, suddenly and violently and without warning. 

In the twisted metal and the smoke and the fading screams, he wonders if he’s cursed, not for the first time or the last. But god, he wishes he hadn’t brought this on them. 

”—ash. Wash. Come on, we have to go. Come on!” 

“Tucker.” 

Caboose's helmet is suddenly very close to his. “Hey, that was the right name this time! Is the game over? “ 

“Shut up, Caboose,” Tucker says automatically, but he sounds shaky. 

Wash abruptly realizes they’re flanking him on either side, half dragging him and he moves to stand on his own, the ship walls rotating still even though they’re no longer moving. They’ve landed. They’re alive. “I don’t need—" 

Tucker’s grip tightens and it says something for Wash’s state that he didn’t break his grip, though Caboose lets him slip out easily. 

“Nope, not happening,” Tucker says. “Not letting you wander off again to talk to people who aren’t there, dude. I need you to keep an eye on _him_.” 

That’s when Wash sees how dented Caboose’s helmet is on one side. He’s swaying slightly and quieter than usual, humming to himself and looking anywhere but the bodies. He reaches back for Caboose and they form a sort of human chain, picking up other survivors as they go in varying conditions. 

“We’re really all that made it?” Tucker says hopelessly as they survey the smoldering wreckage, taking a rest on a grassy hill to gather themselves. 

Even Carolina is taking a moment, though the tension in her body like a coiled spring means she’ll be back to giving them orders to keep busy and distract from the horror any second. They need to make a shelter, gather supplies, set up a camp. But in this moment, Tucker is looking to him for reassurance. He’s asking for a real answer. 

The only one Wash has is _“yes”_. He really has to work on being a better mentor. 

Especially when he finds out that in all the chaos Tucker has been hiding broken ribs for _three days_. It should have been impossible to hide that kind of injury. The pain of moving alone. And none of them had exactly been taking it easy as they scrambled for shelter and what salvage they could get. Wash can’t help the hour long lecture, but from Tucker’s stormy expression it’s not getting through. 

“Like I was going to complain about my ribs when you were super fucked up! You were asking for a chick named Connie and Caboose was freaking out about the name thing because you always corrected him about calling you ‘Church.’ What was I supposed to do? Hit pause on everything because my chest hurts a little?” Tucker’s voice is usually all that’s needed to read his emotions, but half stripped out of his armor, the clench of his jaw and his refusal to make eye contact adds dimension. Tucker was scared. 

Church and Carolina are gone again. Tucker needs someone he can rely on. Tucker and Caboose both do. They need a leader. They need someone who can keep them safe. Someone who they trust to report injuries to. 

Wash resolves to never become incapacitated again. 

"Are you listening, Private Tucker? All injuries must be reported to your commanding officer _immediately_." 

* * *

2\. 

Wash throws his back out the next day. 

They’re finishing burying the last of the bodies in a mass grave far enough away from their camp that it won’t attract predators, or be more of a grisly reminder of their shipwrecked situation. …With the giant wreckage of the ship around the camp that will be difficult, but the point still stands. 

Sarge, Simmons, and Caboose are working up a sweat while Grif and Tucker make digging noises with their mouths, both being injured enough from the crash still to sit out the heavy lifting. Tucker with his _broken ribs._

The healing unit has accelerated the healing process at least, and he should only be out of commission another day or so. He’s lucky the fractures didn’t puncture any internal organs. Tucker could have slowly bled to death internally while Wash was trying calm Caboose after he realized “not here right now” meant “not coming back indefinitely.” 

The job is almost done when Wash _feels_ how his back twists just wrong enough, even in the battle-armor that should protect him from things like this. 

Being a bit older than Tucker and Caboose, he’s not fine immediately, but he’s not taking the healing unit from Tucker. He keeps working, ignoring the twinges. Sarge tilts his helmet at him when he hears him make the quietest groan he can. 

The next day, Wash is punished for it. He walks as straight as he can around their makeshift base, but as soon as Caboose or Tucker are out of eyesight he’s bent over like _an old man._ If there’s anything he can resent as much as being used and betrayed, it’s aging on top of all of that. 

He’s trying to figure out how he can rig together a heating pad for some relief when there’s a smack next to him. Squinting at the object at his feet disbelievingly, he slowly raises his eyes to see Tucker. 

“Did you just _throw_ the healing unit, Private Tucker? The only piece of advanced medical equipment that we have? Did you just _THROW IT AT ME?_ ” 

The back pain might be making him a little testy. It’s been a long few days. 

“Yeah, Agent Assface. You should use it. Since you don’t want to report _your_ injuries.” 

“I’m not injured.” Wash straightens and only gasps a little when his back protests enough that he wants to have Caboose come knock him out. 

“Yeah, okay. You’re not injured and Caboose is up for a doctorate next week. Just take the healing unit. You’ve been walking around here sideways like a crab all day. Even the Reds noticed. I’m tired of hearing their jokes.” 

Wash picks up the healing unit and resolves that Tucker must be recovered enough to start training. Planning out a strict regimen gives him some comfort as he lies down with the healing unit that night. 

* * *

3\. 

Tucker has been more of a brat than usual since training started, and he keeps having Wash look at the most minor ‘injuries’ that he can possibly think of. How does an adult man get this many rashes? 

But even if Wash doesn’t appreciate Tucker nearly giving him a heart attack the first time he calls him over the radio "because he's bleeding" over a papercut, Wash can’t rescind the order now. Better to have Tucker giving him a hard time than not report in at all for something serious. 

The nightmares have been worse lately. Maybe it was the stress of the crash. Maybe it’s the current stress of having a mantis class droid that Caboose likes to put in little hats terrorizing their canyon. 

Tonight is not a good night. 

He doesn’t dream about the past. The dreams usually start with the mundane and twist. Doing the dishes and knowing someone is about to stab Caboose where he’s drawing in crayon on the cliff walls, but he can’t leave to protect Caboose until every dish is dry. 

Or Connie leading the UNSC to arrest Wash again, but he realizes Connie is dead. When he thinks that, her head jerks up and her brown eyes bore into his like she can hear it. Why didn’t he listen to her when she tried to tell him? 

Tonight he dreams Maine—the Meta—comes to their camp. 

When Wash wakes up he’s paralyzed, but at least he’s awake. He gasps in and gasps out, trying to ground himself by concentrating on a smudge on the wall, but his chest is tight and it’s not working. 

Have to hold it together. They need him to hold it together. If they’re attacked he has to be ready. 

A warm hand gently hooks around the back of his neck. “Hey. Wash.” 

He shudders. 

“Seriously dude, wake up.” 

“…Tucker?” It’s Tucker. It’s just Tucker. He’s alive. They’re safe. Everything’s okay. 

He rolls over to look at Tucker, whose eyes are wide and body tense, but sags in relief when Wash responds. 

“Yeah, I need your help,” he says. 

The word _“help”_ from Tucker or Caboose inspires a Pavlovian response for Wash to jump up and fix whatever it is. 

“…I’ve got this rash in my left armpit.” 

Okay, the urge to fix it is curbed. He has no idea what Tucker’s doing in his room right now. “Go back to sleep, Private Tucker.” 

Tucker flashes him a grin before he gets out of Wash’s face. 

* * *

4\. 

“Wash, help,” the rasp is quiet, but unmistakably Tucker. He’s finally awake. 

Wash throws himself out of his doze and his bed in the infirmary to answer the call. He still feels like he went toe to toe with a truck. It had been a high working with Carolina again. A two on two fight, working in perfect tandem... There had been no thought of Tucker while Tucker was bleeding out because of his stupid idiotic plan. 

But now he's awake and talking. Wash stumbles over to where Dr. Grey was disassembling the intubation tube that had been down Tucker’s throat. 

“Oh shit,” says Epsilon, vanishing as Wash limps forward. 

Tucker’s fine. The “save me” look he’s wearing morphing into a slow blink as he takes in Wash’s face, which is still a mess of swelling and bruises. 

"Captain Tucker," Wash says curtly. “Explain yourself." 

"Yeah, I'm gonna have an _awesome_ scar," says Tucker. "Check it out,” he says, fumbling with his johnny. “Chicks will _dig it."_

"Only if they don't have to talk to you," Epsilon mutters, appearing again briefly before winking out again at the glare Wash shoots him. 

"Epsilon," Wash growls, but the hologram is already gone. 

"Hey, relax,” Tucker grins. “It worked, right?" He's on the good drugs, so his words are slightly slurred, but the normal banter is comforting. Caboose is barred from the infirmary for the moment; he was knocking carts over and blaming Tucker, who didn't respond like usual, unconscious with a breathing tube in. Wash should let him know Tucker’s awake now. 

He wants to tell Tucker not to do anything like this ever again, but Tucker’s not really his subordinate anymore. And it _did_ work. 

Sometimes, as impractical a wish as it is, he wishes they hadn’t left the crash site. It was more protected than they are here. 

* * *

5\. 

Of all things, after being separated, worrying for months over what might have happened to the others, after the first battle and another confrontation looming, Agent Washington catches a cold. 

His first strategy is to take more vitamins where he can and ignore it. He drinks a lot of water and ignores the dizziness and weakness through his first two training sessions of the day. 

Tucker just _appears_ some time into the third with his arms crossed. “Hey Wash, I’ve got something to report.” 

Wash can’t help looking him over, but he can’t see anything wrong from outside the armor... 

“It’s not a paper cut, is it?” He cuts himself off before he can call him “private” in front of their men. Tucker’s a captain for Chorus now. And he’s earned it several times over with the fresh scar he received uniting the two armies. 

“Nope. Come on, Grif’s got your squad.” 

“ _Grif_ ,” Wash repeats disbelievingly. Sure enough, the orange soldier’s there, giving Tucker a thumbs up. “He’s just going to dismiss them and leave.” 

They both know it’s true, but Tucker turns and walks just ahead of him and Wash feels compelled to follow, nostalgic for the days when he was ordering Tucker around. The private complained every second, but always followed his orders anyway. Tucker’s grown a lot since then, but the lines of command are a lot more blurred now. 

“Okay,” Wash says once they’re out of range, following Tucker down the officer’s hall. “What’s this all about?” 

“Thermal scan says you’re burning up, Wash. You looked like you were about to collapse on the bench. You should be thanking me.” 

“It’s just a cold.” 

Tucker makes a _hah_ of triumph. “I knew it. Maybe _you_ should start reporting shit to _me_.” 

“I’m not going to report a _cold_ to you, Tucker.” 

“If I have to report every injury, including my intimate rashes—" 

“I never asked you for your rashes—" 

“—then you have to tell _us_ when you’re fucked up. We’re a team. Even if we’re _here_ right now. We have to stay together and watch each other’s backs.” 

That’s not a bad point, but he's not making any promises. 

Wash takes off his helmet with only a little lingering resentment when Tucker drops him off at his room and leaves. Bed does look oddly inviting. Wash feverishly thinks his idea to just never be incapacitated again isn’t working out so well, but... maybe they _can_ look out for each other. 

Maybe it’s not so bad, having people who look out for him too. 

* * *

6\. 

The Reds are crowded around Simmons and easily avoided in his search for Tucker. Wash finally finds him sitting by himself on a couch in the rec room with the same shell shocked expression he’s had all night. 

When the groups were reunited after his team fought without him on The Staff of Charon, the first thing Tucker said to Wash was _'he’s gone.’_

Wash… doesn’t know how to fix this. He’s dealt with the deaths of close friends and comrades. He’s had to burn and bury them himself. He’s dealt with _this particular death_ before. 

But it’s different for Tucker. This is Tucker’s pain. There is no way to fix this. Not really. 

"Well, Caboose is out of surgery," Wash says. "Doctor Grey said it went well. She was pretty disappointed she didn't get to give him a robot eye." 

At least Caboose is unconscious for now. They’ll have to figure out how to tell him that Epsilon— that _Church_ is gone. 

That’s who he was to them. Church. Their old leader. Their friend. And they’ve just lost him again. 

Tucker’s wrist was sprained in the fight, but other than that he’s fine. His wrist is wrapped and his brain is whole, as far as they know, for now. Epsilon was careful and aware of the damage he could cause when he—did what he did. 

Wash doesn’t feel as bitter as he might have expected when Epsilon didn't do the same for him. Only relief that Tucker isn’t strapped to a table screaming about memories that aren’t his. Their team is still alive. Still whole. 

“Great,” Tucker finally says, flatly. 

The team is still whole to Wash anyway. Not for Caboose. Not for Tucker. 

Tucker looks hopeless. Devastated. Like everything’s in free fall for him. “Anything to report, Captain Tucker?” 

“I’m fine,” Tucker says, and Wash suddenly finds himself in the position of dealing with someone who is really not fine, but insisting that they are. Wash can put aside his own history, his own trauma, to be there for his team now. 

Wash sits down next to him on the couch and Tucker’s expression wavers but he still won’t look at him. After a few seconds of hesitation he puts his hand on the back of Tucker’s neck, fingers curving under the edges of Tucker’s implants. 

Tucker’s expression doesn’t change, but slowly his shoulders relax and Wash thinks maybe he’s not so bad at this. 

“I know you miss y—” 

“DUDE. DO NOT EVEN.” 

They end up laughing at each other and leaning on each other and waiting for the news that Caboose is ready for visitors. 

Wash can’t fix this for them the way they can’t fix _him_ , but what they have—it works. 

They’ll report in to each other, and it will all be as okay as it can be. 


End file.
